Wow, what a great September, for
a change. Gotta love those Indians; thanks chaps. But the extended warm weather
is not without its problems here in France as the grass fields are as brown a
Louis the pointer-dog and any tiny shoot of grass that does poke its way
through the rock-solid soil gets snapped up by Daisy the sheep and her pals.
Yes, Daisy Death-wish is still with us, albeit in her currently slimmer form,
heading for a third lambing. If I were a betting man, I would have lost a
bundle on her not making it to a first birthday – but some things defy the
odds.
Here’s another bet that has a
poor chap hoping. One irresponsibly wealthy person – in London – has bet 800k
of his life-savings on Scotland’s not gaining independence. By the time this
goes to print he will either be 200k better off or in the dole queue. I have to
admit that from my standpoint – and being a house-owner in Scotland, we have a
valid one – that the whole thing has been a complete farce and a waste of money
for a country which claims to have none. As one wag put it: ‘spending all your
money on a saw to hack off the hand that feeds you will not only leave you
armless, but penniless too!’ One assumes, despite poor lads and lasses in the
schemes in Glasgow believing that their YES vote will mean they get salmon and
sturgeon on the menu in their local chippie (can I get a fried mars bar and a
poke o chips wi tha’?) that enough people without saltire-coloured glasses on
will turn out on the day and make sense of it all. Otherwise, we may be fleeing
south like Kind Edward himself with our jimmy hats on fire!
On the subject of Scotland, we have recently
got the keys to a small terraced house in Fife which we put in an offer for
back in February. As the delay suggests, it wasn’t the easiest of conveyancing
process which culminated in one of the lawyers involved having to search
gravestones in a local cemetery to trace a long lost owner who died in 1916! Needless
to say, the property requires some moderate renovation, once I can weed out the
cowboy builders and get one to turn up on the right day and stay until the job
is finished. Ah, no, hang on, I think Alex Salmond has more chance of becoming
Pope than I do with that task! Meanwhile, I have been trying to get the
building insured and stooped to the bottom of the pile by using that service
advertised by some prat on TV with a large moustache whom everyone hates. With
my eyesight failing a wee bit these days, I left it to Wendy to read the small
print, and a good job she did. You see, hidden in that very print are tiny
exclusions such as, and I quote: ‘property is not insured for fire damage if it
is caused by electrical or gas heating appliances and/or naked flame (eg the
cooker). As if that wasn’t enough, the next line reads: ‘property is not
insured for damage by storms!’ The place is by the North Sea, FFS, of course
there will be storms! That’s like saying your car isn’t insured if you hit
something, or you life insurance doesn’t cover accidental death! Thankfully we
are covered for terrorism and rioting, obviously prominent in tiny seaside
villages in East Neuk? Maybe they are covering their back when we have to
barricade ourselves in once the SNP start their ethnic cleansing process!
Having mentioned annoying adverts,
can I have a grouse about how TV no longer manages to offer me anything I would
be remotely interested in. Years ago, I am sure at least a few adverts took my
attention, targeted to the audience of the program that sandwiched them. You
know, like selling us wellingtons and woollies during the breaks in a program
advocating holidays in Britain. Or crisps, beer, fags and knuckle-dusters at half
time in football games. Said programme I was watching was Grand Designs, whose
target viewers are probably fifty-sixty-something, perhaps on the sunnier side
of the poverty line and a decorum of common sense. Do I really want to buy hair
extensions, microwavable chicken nuggets and cheap nappies? Wouldn’t they be
far better offering me building materials, luxury cars and fine wines? That’s
what they do on the internet, isn’t it? Go online to buy a book on gardening,
next thing you have pop-ups everywhere offering you a lawnmower, hedgecutter,
some weedkiller and a night out with Charlie Dymock after she’s had a wash. Why
hasn’t the same technology reached TV yet? So when I buy a new flat-screen, I
can tick the boxes of things that interest me (such as the said Charlie D) and
switch off the rest, barring them from my screen altogether. If there weren’t
enough adverts on my chosen subjects, it could fill the gaps with some pleasing
music and a big sign saying ‘go put the kettle on, and don’t spare the
hobnobs!’ Come on Murdoch, get with the programme!
Meanwhile, our own programme has
again been a hectic one. In early September we were back in the Midlands for a
wedding, of a local from Rock, as it happens. And from then to Scotland to a
masked ball, which was somewhat fun. I must admit I hadn’t fully read the
invite and got a few disturbing looks when I turned up in my Hannibal Lecter
outfit and a nice bottle of Cianti! Then it’s back to France as fast as Ryan
can muster, stepping off the plane straight into a dress rehearsal for a show I
have been roped into singing in. It is pretty much ten years to the date since
I last trod the boards in front of an audience and I have to confess it is
enjoyable to be back. Over that time spent in a country with cheap gin and wine,
I openly admit my voice has faded significantly and I am well out-classed
amongst the talented bunch of 12 artistes, and two great directors, but I will
give it my all. Then I have just a single week to remove the rotten tomato
stains from my suit before heading back north again.
All things going to plan, by the
time this article has hit the information highway I will now be at last living with an honest
woman. Not that Wendy has ever told porkies;, just that we have been engaged to
be married for over 5 years and, on 27th September we will have tied
the knot in a small hotel overlooking the sea in East Lothian, Scotland,
possibly with the rain lashing down and YES campaigners crying in the corner.
It will be a privilege to welcome her into the Frazier family – a pretty
valuable asset I am certain. The event will be slightly marred by my mother
being unable to be there due to ill health, but we will raise a glass, along
with a few other close friends and swing the kilts in fine style until we drop.
Possibly we may find time and energy to squeeze in a few days away on the west coast
before charging back to France to host the 6th Annual Chutney Festival
and all that it entails. This year’s judge is being flown in specially, all the
way from my home village of Rock!
Immediately after that it will be
time to put the rams with the ewes and last year’s crop in the freezer, prune
the garden, mend the roof and generally tidy the place away for winter. Where
did that year go again?
